Ego Maniac(16)
“If this guy calls back—Jonathon Gates—you have my permission to hang up on him.”
“Can I call him a name first?”
Drew looked amused. “What would you call him?”
“That depends. What did he do wrong?”
“He beats his wife.”
“Oh, God. Okay.” I twisted my lips as I thought of a good name for Mr. Gates. “I’d call him a fucking animal, and then hang up on him.”
Drew chuckled. “You don’t curse like a New Yorker.”
“What do you mean?”
“You pronounce the entire word. F-u-c-k-i-n-g.”
“How should I pronounce it?”
“Fuckin. Leave off the hard g.”
“Fuckin,” I repeated.
“It sounds stiff. You should practice more so it sounds natural.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out the food I’d ordered. With a smile, I offered it to him. “Here’s your fuckin lunch.”
“Nice.” He smiled. “Keep it up. You’ll sound like Tess in no time.”
“Tess?”
“My secretary who’s out because she had hip surgery. She’s sixty and looks like Mary Poppins, but she swears like a sailor.”
“I’ll practice some more.”
I’d ordered us sandwiches from a deli I discovered on my first day of fake tenancy. Since Drew looked like he took care of himself, I picked him out a turkey club on whole wheat with avocado and ordered myself the same, though I usually tended to eat less healthy food. Drew devoured his entire sandwich before I could finish half of mine, and I wasn’t a slow eater.
Looking at his empty wrapper, I asked, “I take it you liked the sandwich?”
“Went to the gym at 5 a.m. and didn’t have time to eat before an early meeting uptown. That was the first thing I’d eaten today.”
“5 a.m.? You went to the gym at five in the morning?”
“I’m an early riser. From the appalled tone in your voice, I take it you’re not.”
“I try to be.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Not so good.” I laughed. “I have trouble falling asleep at night, so mornings are tough.”
“Do you exercise?”
“I started taking that Krav Maga a few times a week at night to wear myself out, hoping it would help me sleep. It doesn’t really help. But I like it anyway.”
“How about those drinks with melatonin in them?”
“Tried them. Nothing.”
“Sleeping pills?”
“I wind up groggy for twenty-four hours after I take anything. Even Tylenol PM wipes me out.”
“Prolactin then.”
“Prolactin? What’s that? A vitamin or something?”
“It’s a hormone you release after orgasm. Makes you sleepy. Have you tried masturbating right before bed?”
I was mid-swallow and choked on the sandwich bite. Not the sputtering, coughing, it-went-down-the-wrong-pipe cute kind of choke. No. I choked. Literally. A small chunk of bread lodged in my throat, blocking my airway. In a panic, I stood, knocking the wrapper with the rest of my turkey club and my soda to the floor, and began to point furiously to my throat.
Luckily, Drew took the hint. He ran around to my side of the desk and smacked me on the back a few times. When I remained unable to breathe, he wrapped his arms around me from behind and performed the Heimlich. On the second hard thrust, the bread blocking my airway dislodged and flew across his office. Even though the entire episode probably only lasted fifteen seconds, I bent and gasped for air as if I’d been deprived for three minutes. My heart thundered inside of my chest, the sudden adrenaline surge hitting hard.
Drew didn’t let go. He kept his arms locked around me tightly, just under my chest, as I heaved in long breaths.
Eventually, when my breathing had returned to somewhat normal, he spoke in a low, hesitant voice. “You okay?”
My voice was scratchy. “I think so.”
His grip around me loosened, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he rested his head on top of mine. “You scared the shit out of me.”
I held my throat with one hand. “That was a terrifying feeling. I’ve never actually choked before.” For the brief moment of my impending doom, I’d completely forgotten what had made me choke. But it quickly came back to me. “You almost killed me.”
“Killed you? I think your brain was deprived of oxygen. I just saved your life, beautiful.”
“You made me choke. Who brings up masturbating with an almost stranger while eating lunch?”
“An almost stranger? I’ve seen you in your underwear, bailed you out of prison, and given you a place to park your ass all day long. Pretty sure I’m your best friend in town at this point.”
I whipped around and stared at him. “Maybe I don’t need to masturbate anyway. Maybe I have a boyfriend who takes care of those needs.”
Drew smirked. Not smiled. Smirked. “If that’s the case, and you’re still having trouble sleeping after he takes care of you at night, then dump his ass because he sucks in bed.”
“And I suppose all of your women are fast asleep after you take care of them.”
“Damn straight. I’m like a superhero. The Prolactinator.”